


Finding the Right Frequency

by impish_nature



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Paranoia, Pre-Portal, Sleep Deprivation, canon divergance?, radio presenter au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: The portal isn’t everything Ford was dreaming it to be. Bills betrayed him, Fiddleford is gone and rest is a luxury he can’t afford. Whilst trying to determine what’s real and what isn’t, Ford stumbles across a late night radio station with a painfully familiar voice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a text post by @gravity-what and this comic by @peekabooitsmiko.   
> http://peekabooitsmiko.tumblr.com/post/138354102317/not-an-au-more-of-a-slightly-sad-thought
> 
> AN: Commission from JK! I was super pumped to do this when they came to me and I’ve got to make a shoutout to @gravity-what and @peekabooitsmiko for making it possible. (I really hope you two like this, I hoped it would be a nice surprise for you ♥)

“Come on, come on!” Ford slammed his fist down on the table in a fit of panicked frustration. Everything jumped up at the motion, pages scattering, tools clacking together irritably. He heard something fall over, saw it roll out of his peripheral vision and vanish with a resounding crash to the floor. But he didn’t make a move to stop it, his eyes focused on the machine sitting innocuously before him, refusing to do as it was told.

_It’s never going to work, you know._

“Please. Come on.” Ford’s voice broke as he stared at the impassive machinery.

_Please, I just need something. Anything-_

His hands shook as he reached forward again, trying to will the small instrument to work with every fibre of his being. He took a deep breath before flicking the power switch, the loud fizzle of white noise strumming to his ears as he twiddled the dials over and over.

Nothing happened.

_Useless. Useless. Can’t do anything- nothing works! Everything I do ends in disaster-_

He groaned, dropping the item before him to put his head in his hands.

He was so tired.

So very tired.

He could feel the exhaustion like an added weight through every heaving breath, felt it eating away at his strength, eating away more and more at his core with every moment that he forced himself to stay awake.

But he couldn’t rest.

It was worse when he slept. There was no sweet oblivion for him. Nightmares sparked behind his eyelids as soon as they fluttered shut, his failures coming up to greet him from the pit and shaking him awake before there was any benefit from the rest.

_You have too much to do to sleep! Too much to fix!  
…you can’t even fix _ **this** _, what makes you think you can fix_ **anything** _?_

A pitiful noise escaped him as his thoughts swirled deeper, sleep deprivation making them all the more insidious and self-loathing. Fiddleford was gone, the anger at his departure now a painful stab of regret and shame buried deep into his heart. Bill had betrayed him, another wound bleeding out of him as everything he had believed in, everything he had worked on was torn away from his white knuckled grasp and reduced to someone else’s scheme. Reduced to a lie that he had believed in so fervently.

He had nothing to show for all his hard work, nothing but ash and the remnants of dreams crumbling to dust.

Nothing but haunting memories, the days and nights since a blur of restlessness and blank spots formed from overworking as he tried to right the wrongs that had happened. Yellow flashed from the corners of the room whenever he turned, laughter rang inside his head to jolt him awake from sleep he hadn’t even known he’d slipped into.

Eyes watched him mockingly, the heat of their stare resting on the back of his head making him hunch over further and refuse to move, scribbling his ideas down fast before his mind wandered.

He pushed the heels of his palms further, feeling spots dance across his vision. Everything felt fuzzy. His mind reasoned that Bill couldn’t be there, stuck in his own dimension with the portal closed off below, but the reasoning never lasted long, the logic behind it vanishing into paranoia with every quickening breath.

_How do you even know you’re awake?_

Ford shook as the thought presented itself again. It kept happening more and more frequently. He hadn’t left the house since Fiddleford had gone. Had had no contact with the outside world. Just the four walls around him and Bill’s laughter for company. And he had no idea if _that_ was in his head or not. Whether Bill was actually there and playing an active part or just watching him succumb to his own troubled mind. Whether even his own brain was now betraying him without any help from an outside source.

He needed something- _anything_ to know he was awake. Still fighting, still breathing, still _alive_.

Nothing felt real anymore, a numbness seeping through to dull the edge of every emotion until they suddenly flared up again like a rush of adrenaline to push him onwards in his fight.

Underwhelming or overwhelming, there was no in between.

Ford let his hands drop, the feeling not enough to convince him that the world was real as his eyes blearily found the machine again. He turned it off again, flipping it over to give it one more try as he fiddled with the wires in the back. It wasn’t much, it shouldn’t be this hard but with fumbling fingers the task was proving arduous. He grit his teeth, trying not to get annoyed at himself again as he worked. It should be simple, he was only reverting the item back to its original use after all. Sure, they had dismantled it before to aid their studies of the anomalies in Gravity Falls, but he hadn’t realised quite how _many_ modifications Fiddleford had had to make to it to serve that purpose.

He carried on in silence for a while, letting the work take over his mind and dampen the tangle of thoughts, gave him something to focus his dwindling strength on.

He held his breath as he turned it back on again, the static buzzing through. He twisted the dial, trying to catch anything in the white noise that rang out across the room.

For a second he thought he heard a familiar cackle catching in the noise, toying with him and his heart thumped painfully in his chest.

He fumbled for the off switch, knocking the dial a few more clicks in the process.

A new sound, quiet and disjointed, caught him before he could turn it off, the soft lilt of music catching him off guard.

“Wh- knew he -uld sing like that, am I right? Now then-”

The air left his lungs in a relieved gasp as he focused his efforts again on the small dial, making the voice ring out clear as day, the crackle of static dwindling with every tweak. He set the radio down again, worried to touch it and break the link to the outside world now that he had established it.

Ford closed his eyes, letting the unfamiliar voice envelope him as he rested his head for a moment, pure relief lifting the darkness ever so slightly.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Enough to know the world still existed.

* * *

 

The radio became his lifeline.

There was still no rest, the nightmares still stirring threateningly whenever he closed his eyes but now there was a voice that was not his own to tell him things that were happening outside, things he couldn’t know, to help negate the apprehension that it was all in his head.

He wrote down radio frequencies as if they were notes of utmost importance alongside his research to defeat Bill, knowing that it was all that kept him from crumbling in the darkness. He flicked through for other stations to occupy him, different voices to dissuade the anxiety further when thoughts tried to worm their way in to make him doubt once more. Used the knowledge that he could go back to stations he’d already found, grab the notes and find the same voices again and again to really crush the paranoia on the worst days.

And then one day one particular voice changed all that, stopped the hopping to and fro from station to station.

Left him stuck on the edge of desperately hopeful and utterly panicked.

A familiar voice rang out from the radio, one he’d never thought to hear again.

_Can it really be?_

“What? You guys didn’t really fall for that story I told last week, did ya?”

It was the laugh that really sealed it, that guffaw that used to make him smile and shake his head.

He could almost hear the smirk, could almost see the mischievous spark resting in his eyes.

Except he didn’t know what he looked like anymore.

_Stan?_

“Honestly, I’ve got so many letters from you guys asking. I thought I made it clear never to trust a word I say and yet you all still come back and ask for advice!”

A bubble of laughter escaped Ford as he listened to his brother’s good humoured banter. He was almost convinced that this was it, the sleep deprivation had finally gotten to him and he was hearing things he wanted to hear instead of what was actually there.

“Guess I must be doing something right. So let’s see if I can help anyone tonight-”

He hadn’t even noticed that he’d leant forward, resting his head on his arms as he stared at the radio before him as if it held all the answers.

It didn’t matter in that moment if this was all in his head.

He wanted to listen.

He wanted to hope.

He’d believed that all the other voices were real, why couldn’t this one be real too?

His eyes fell shut as he listened, his breathing slowing as he imagined Stan sat beside him, chattering away to dead air without a care in the world.

No glistening eye, nor sharp cackle interrupted his sleep that night, just the soft sound of his brother’s voice lulling him into a dreamless oblivion.

* * *

 

“And on to our first caller! How can I help ya?”

Ford smiled as he heard the familiar voice echo out of the old radio, continuing to scratch out his latest idea. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he first heard Stan’s voice, the days still bleeding into one another, but he had yet to change the station again. Had left it on the same wavelength so that he would never miss Stan talking to him every night.

It was ironic, really, how much comfort he could take from a voice that he had once, in his anger, believed he would never want to hear again.

Now it was the only way he could sleep.

Not that he always took the peace that it could grant him. At first he’d let Stan’s voice lull him into the small amount of sleep that it afforded him. Let himself rest for the few hours Stan’s show was on until an unfamiliar voice spoke to him through the crackling airwaves and the nightmares took their cue to sink their vicious teeth back in and wake him scrabbling and panicked.

It was still more than he’d had previously, still gave him the vital energy he needed to keep moving.

But then he had realised he could focus more when Stan’s voice slipped reassuringly through the gloom. It calmed him, stilled the spiralling thoughts and cleared his head enough to realise he was awake and the world was real. A moment to sit and listen, a break from the work before getting back to it as Stan said goodbye was almost as good as actual rest itself.

Almost.

The scant hours of sleep were sure to do more than just sitting listening to the radio ever would.

If someone were to ask he knew what his excuse would be. He couldn’t rest, he needed to work. Who knew how many hours he’d wasted falling asleep to Stan’s laughter?

In reality, it wasn’t at all that when he woke up he achingly missed the voice that had been there before. Wasn’t that when the fire and brimstone of his encroaching nightmares vanished to the ice cold room that was meant to be his home, he was reminded how alone he really was.

Wasn’t that the unfamiliar voice that appeared left him perplexed and dazed, wondering where his brother had gone before the world fell into place again and he remembered where he was.

No, it was better to keep going, that was all. He had to defeat Bill. Stan was helping him do that by clearing his head.

He didn’t need sleep.

“You still there, kid? You got a question or not?”

Ford blinked, eyes focusing back in on his journal.

_How long was I…?_

“Uhm, yes sorry… so, m-me and my brother, we-we had a fight.” The hesitant voice went quiet, a gulp of air crackling through to Ford as he stood stock still, body entirely frozen. “He won’t talk to me, won’t even stay in the same room as me. Do…do you know what I should…?”

“Oh boy.”

Ford almost choked. On hysterical laughter or tears he wasn’t sure but there was something lodged in his throat as Stan sighed, a sad defeated sound that sent his heart plummeting.

“R-right, sibling advice. _Heh_. I am probably the _worst_ person to come to for that kind of thing.” There was a self-deprecating laugh, cold and hollow that was so not Stan it sent a shudder through him. “And I say that a lot!”

There was a beat of silence. Ford found he couldn’t move, waiting for Stan to speak. Would he shout and rage? Would he break down? Would he do neither, speak impassively as if he didn’t have an answer at all?

_Will he even say he has a brother after all this time?_

Ford felt another tremor vibrate through him.

He didn’t know if he could take that.

_Should I turn it off now? Before I lose this comfort altogether-_

“I…I have a brother too actually. Real smart guy, you know?”

Ford hadn’t even realised he’d been holding his breath until it shuddered back out, felt his muscles relax from their tense position and finally allow him to turn around towards the source of the voice.

“Don’t get me wrong- he was nerdy to a fault! He’d forget what he was meant to be working on if something more interesting took his fancy!” Stan’s normal chuckle returned, nostalgically warm enough to soothe the ice that had started to form. But it faltered quickly. “We, uhh…we haven’t spoken in a long time though.”

“We fought too, one of those big fights that you never think will happen to you. How could it, you know? Thick as thieves, we were, I never thought I could change that… I regret…” Stan sighed again, Ford could see him running a hand through his hair agitatedly. “I never got the chance to tell Fo- him how sorry I was- am. How sorry I still am.” Another choked laugh. “Doesn’t matter either way.”

_It does._

Ford’s hand found plastic and he blinked, pulling away slightly as he realised what he was doing. He didn’t remember turning fully, didn’t remember walking towards the radio and yet here he was, reaching out as if his brother was there to comfort.

He shook his head, a myriad of emotions forming behind his eyes.

“What am I doing?! This isn’t about me!”

Ford jumped at the sound of raucous laughter, the dismissal of the atmosphere that had been blooming winding him.

_Don’t stop, please- I need to know-_

“You need to talk to your brother. Sit him down and really talk to him. Don’t end up like me.”

_Don’t end up like me. Don’t end up like us._

“Take the chance, talk to him. You might not get another one.”

“Stan-”

_He can’t hear you._

Ford choked again, tears wracking through him as his hand found unforgiving plastic again. He’d lost his chance, he needed his brother and this was a one way line.

He could hear him, he could hear his heartfelt apology.

But Stan couldn’t hear the response.

_He might never hear-_

Ford crumpled into the chair before the radio, listened to the guy thank Stan and tell him he’d try his best and let him know what happened. Listened to Stan console another man’s brother but not his own.

He couldn’t seem to stop the tears, the emotions that had run high and low over everything, flooding out of him. All the turmoil bleeding out, and running down his face as he finally gave in, finally broke down and let everything out in sobs he didn’t think his tired body was capable of.

They slowed after a while, Stan’s dulcet tones still winging through the air towards him to soothe even this. He was still there, still close by even if it wasn’t close enough.

But that didn’t matter when his laughter had returned, full bodied and warm and so very Stan that he went boneless, the tears drying up and his body too tired to move as he smiled at the speaker.

For once the morning light peeking through the curtain would wake him from his slumber.

* * *

 

The peace didn’t last for long.

Hope could be such a painfully twisted thing.

One night of actual rest was not enough to solve everything. His nightmares saw fit to grow fiercer from then on, now latching on to his newfound fear that he’d never get a chance to speak to Stan.

Saw fit to add him into the mix alongside Bill so that now even listening to Stan’s voice was not enough.

Some nights Stan would refuse to talk to him, having given up long ago, his connection to him severing entirely to leave him once again stuck all alone inside his home with no hope of escape.

Other nights were worse, the hope warm and radiating through him as Stan appeared on his doorstep after all these years out of the blue, the caller he’d had previously making him think just as much and he’d decided to test his luck and see if Ford would forgive him.

And just when everything was in his grasp, he’d wake up to the sound of Stan saying goodbye from the radio, leaving him for another day. Reminding him it wasn’t real.

Or there were the ones that made him wake up with a jolt, panic lacing through him and making him never want to sleep again.

The nights when Stan and Bill would meet.

He’d rather Stan refused to talk to him than _that_.

At least he’d be alive, not-

“Time for our third caller of the night! We’ve still got time for a few more after this.”

Ford shook the thoughts away as Stan spoke. He was awake and Stan was alive and Bill couldn’t get to either of them.

His breath left him in a bubble of relief as he remembered.

But it still wasn’t enough, nothing was. Everything was a fizzling anxious mess, like white noise just under the surface ready to bubble over and engulf him.

He couldn’t continue like this, this wasn’t living. There was no way he’d be able to defeat Bill in this state. Not when he jumped at every noise, not when the room wobbled and swayed as he stood up and the only time he truly felt calm was whilst listening to his brother’s voice over the airwaves.

No, something had to give before he gave out entirely.

“Hello? Are you there, caller?”

Ford froze, already forgetting what he had done in a moment of impulse. Stan’s voice rang out through both the radio and the receiver he held up to his ear. “Oh! Uhm…”

He’d never actually expected to be chosen, a useless endeavour to at least give him the semblance that he was trying.

“Cat got your tongue?” Stan chuckled out, his feline grin audible. “Come on, I’ve been told I give excellent advice.”

“Yes, sorry…” Ford bit his lip, his mind blanking out.

_What do I say? ‘Hey Stan, it’s me, Ford’.  
I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t put the phone down on me._

“Time’s a’wasting friend. I’ll have to go to someone else in a second.”

“No, please! I-” Ford didn’t give himself chance to think, letting the words flow instead. “Sorry, it’s hard to explain. I just- you gave someone great advice about his brother before and I wondered if you could help-”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, mate, but I’ll say the same thing I did to him. I’m not the best person to ask and you should just talk to your brother.”

_I’m trying to._

“Yes, yes, I know but- we fought so long ago, we haven’t spoken in years. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Ford tried not to laugh ironically at his own wording, his face heating up as he looked away from the radio, almost like he could feel Stan staring at him through it.

_And yet this is how you do it. You can’t even own up to who you are.  
…Probably for the best, he wouldn’t want to talk to you anyway._

“Who started the fight?”

Ford blinked. “S-sorry?”

“Who started the fight? I know a lot of people would tell you that doesn’t matter after a long time but…what happened?”

He gulped, his hand tightening around the receiver. He’d spent so long raging about that fight yet now saying it seemed like the most difficult thing to do. “I guess… he did?”

“Huh.” Stan’s voice was surprised. “Wasn’t expecting that, most would say they did and they were trying to mend bridges… I’m kind of impressed, nice to see, you know?”

“So… do you think I have a chance?” Ford couldn’t crush the hope warming up his chest as he listened to Stan ponder. “Do you think if I- if I tried to contact him he might be interested in at least talking? Getting to know one another again?”

“…I think it depends on how long it’s been. Sorry to burst your bubble, mate, but it still takes two to tango and if you decided not to talk to him for that long he might wonder why you’re talking to him now.”

Ford felt his heart shatter as he took a deep breath. “ _Oh_.”

Of course, it had been too long. Far too long.

And what had he been ringing for, anyway? It was only because he had no one else to turn to.

_Selfish. He doesn’t need you anymore._

“ _Hey_ , hey, don’t lose hope. Your best bet is to talk to him honestly, that’s all.”

“Would you?”

“Sorry?”

The words had slipped out before he could stop them, but he continued on regardless, just to make sure there was no chance. “If your brother tried to contact you, would you turn him away?”

“Hey now that’s… no offence but that’s nothing to do with you.”

Ford couldn’t stop the hysterical peel of laughter that escaped him.

“Wow, yeah, you’re drunk, aren’t you? Mate, sober up before you try talking to your brother, alright?”

“I’m not drunk.” Ford shook his head, trying to focus. “I just- I’m sorry if it’s too personal but would you? Would you like to talk to your brother again?”

“Of course I would.” Stan snapped then, irate and caught off guard. He could hear him trying to settle down, his teeth gritting in the receiver. “Sorry, I just- I caused problems for him, constantly when we were kids. I didn’t realise it at the time, not until we fought.” He sighed, his voice dejected. “Of course I’d talk to him if he called, I want to apologise, I already said that, do I have to keep talking about this? A lot happened because of that fight and dredging it up is not something I really ever wanted to do again.” He gave a cold, hollow laugh. “Besides, not a lot I can do. You can ask that question all you want, there’s no way my brother would ever try- or want to get in contact with me again. I hurt him too much.”

“You don’t know that.”

“…Right.” The word was nervous and put off by the entire ordeal and Ford felt his stomach twist in regret. This had been a terrible idea and now because he wasn’t thinking straight, Stan was going to vanish and he’d lose his chance. He could feel it deep down that this was it, now or never and as usual _nothing was working as it should_.

_It took you hours to fix that radio. You can’t fix what you did to Fiddleford, you can’t fix what you did with Bill. What makes you think one conversation could ever fix-?_

“Well, I think I’ve said all I can. Just like the last guy, you should try and talk to your brother. Sort things out-”

“ _I’m trying to!”_

The words burst out of him, he bit his lip to stop the sob that threatened to come out with them. The sudden burst of energy dissipated as quickly as it had come as the radio stayed silent behind him.

“I’m… I’m trying to.”

“…Sixer?”

Ford did sob then, the familiar nickname had been tainted by Bill but hearing it from Stan gave it new life again, a gulp of fresh air as Stan recognised him.

He was real, he was there and he wasn’t just listening to the outside world anymore. No longer a passive onlooker, no longer a bystander as the world spun on without him.

“S-Stan…”

“Ford, oh god it’s- it’s really you, isn’t it?”

Ford hiccupped as the disbelief in Stan’s voice turned to awe. “Ye-yeah, it’s me.” Paranoia flooded in then, panic and worry eclipsing everything. “Do I need to prove that?”

Stan laughed, the sound hitching but full of energy. “No- god no. I mean, you seem to have been listening for a while and yet didn’t notice the pseudonym at all.”

Ford let out an apologetic noise, unable to do much else in that moment.

He’d forgotten that, he’d given out Stan’s name without thought. He tried to calm himself with the knowledge that at least it meant Stan believed him on who he was.

“Ford… wow, I never thought…”

The warmth in the conversation vanished quickly, as if it had taken that long for the shock to wear off and suddenly there was a hint of something colder, something human and hurt in Stan’s voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Jesus, Ford… it’s almost been a decade and this is how you get in touch? By pretending not to be you to see what I’d say?”

“I didn’t mean to- I just-” Ford gulped as excuses came and went, none of them enough. Instead the truth came out, far more poignant than any excuse could have been anyway. “I wanted to make sure I had a chance.”

“For the love of- for a genius you aren’t half an idiot sometimes.”

Ford snorted but couldn’t help the sound of agreement that left him. Stan let out a bark of laughter, one that had Ford smiling along with it.

“Wow… 10 years… it’s been far too long, Sixer.”

“I know. I… have no excuse, other than not knowing where you were.”

“You could have asked Ma.”

“Hey, it’s not like-” Ford bit his lip. He really needed to think before he spoke, but his brain to mouth filter had disappeared entirely without sleep.

“Not like I tried? I’ve rung you a lot of times actually.” Stan’s voice became hesitant then, more thoughtful. “Though I always chickened out whenever you answered the phone, couldn’t seem to think what to say…so I guess we’re as bad as one another there.”

Ford couldn’t think what to say to that, not wanting to make things worse by saying something wrong. Instead his slow thoughts went to what Stan had said before, his voice quiet and interested. “You kept in touch with Ma?”

“‘Course I did. I rung her work phone line so Pa wouldn’t be able to stop her answering, didn’t want-” He coughed, obviously realising they were still on the air. “Anyway, let’s not get into too much of that as much as my listeners might be interested.”

“R-right, of course.”

“And even though I know you’ve heard me say it before, I haven’t said it _to_ you so…I really am sorry, Sixer. I never meant for it to happen, even if I was angry at the time. I would never ruin your chances like that on purpose-”

“I know, Stan. It’s OK, I know.”

Stan’s sigh was so heartfelt at his words that Ford wanted to pull him into a hug right there, prove the words further and confirm that things were as they should be between them.

“So, are you drunk, Sixer? ‘Cause I can’t see you ringing me otherwise.”

“No.” Ford tried to sound affronted but he deflated in that moment. “I dunno, I was being selfish. I… missed you, Knucklehead. Your radio show has been about the only thing keeping me sane through- through my research.”

“Ahh, sleep deprived then. A sleep deprived Ford might as well be a drunk one considering the similarities.” Stan’s voice was warm and endearing though, amused and soft as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. “Hell, who am I kidding? I’m glad you rung either way, even if it won’t happen again once you’ve come to your senses.”

“What? Stan, this isn’t just because I haven’t slept-”

“Uh-huh?”

Ford frowned at the amusement. “Hey! I don’t… I don’t want it to end like this. I’m trying, Stan.”

“Oh, I believe that. I just think you might feel differently later on.”

“Well, I won’t.” Ford snapped, standing up straight as he turned to glare at the radio.

“Prove it.” Stan’s voice was full of bemused challenge, giddy that they were even talking again even as he knew he was frustrating Ford to no end.

That had always been the fun of it, knowing that Ford’s exasperation was short lived.

It only cemented further to Ford though that Stan believed he’d never get a chance to do it again. “I will. You wait and see.”

“Alright, I’ll take you up on that.” Stan’s voice was full of good natured hope, even if he seemed hell-bent on not believing in him quite yet. His next words were again hesitant, as if worried he would burst the bubble that had formed, scared to do something that would make him wake up from this dream.

Ford couldn’t help but appreciate how similarly he felt in that moment.

“It really is good to hear your voice again, bro.”

Ford felt his knees buckle slightly as he sounded the affirmative, too emotional to really speak. He slowly levered himself into his seat as everything caught up to him.

All those horrid ‘what ifs’ had dissipated, leaving behind the tired relief that Stan had listened to him, Stan had _wanted_ to talk to him.

It had gone…far better than he could have ever dreamed.

Which yet again became a crutch that this was really happening. He wasn’t just dreaming.

In his dreams Stan hadn’t bantered with him, hadn’t challenged him, he’d just accepted the news that Ford wanted to talk to him with open arms or refused point blank to even acknowledge him.

Not this slight disbelief, not this happy yet resigned notion that Ford would leave his life again as soon as he’d entered it.

This was entirely new and so perfectly Stan, to not do exactly as Ford thought he would, that he couldn’t help but feel the pull of his intrusive thoughts lessen and lessen the more they spoke.

This was Stan.

This was real.

_Stan doesn’t think this is real_.

Ford frowned at the thought, mouth opening again before he’d thought things through. Things were starting to get hazy again, the outpouring of emotion leaving his body lethargic and out of sorts. “I should give you my number so you can call me too-”

“Whoa there, genius. On air, remember?”

“Oh.” Ford blinked slowly, the room growing darker as he propped his head on his hand, leaning more heavily against the cabinet the phone sat on. “Right, of course.”

“Wow, you really are tired, aren’t you?” Stan tutted, Ford smiled cheekily as he imagined him shaking his head at him. “Get to bed. And anyway, you said you were going to ring me, you already going back on that?”

“Of course not!” Ford grumbled, eyes squinting heatedly before a sudden notion popped up before him. “Wait, how will I-”

“Just ring this number when I’m off the air. And don’t get any ideas, listeners! I will _not_ be impressed if I get phone calls I’m not expecting. I’ve waited ten years for a sober conversation with my brother, don’t spoil this for me…please?”

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed more, ever as his mouth tried to quirk up in response to his pleas. “I’m _not_ drunk, Stan.”

“Yeah? When was the last time you slept? And I mean slept, not napped.”

“Uhm…” Ford sat up as much as he could, realising he was listing over in his chair. He knew he slept when that last caller asked for sibling advice but…how long ago had that been? He couldn’t ask Stan, that would just prove his point. “I think it was-”

“Save it. ‘I think’ rests my case. Or yours – go rest, Poindexter!” Stan huffed, the noise equal parts exasperated and fond. “And don’t you dare fall asleep wherever you are now. I know you- sleeping upright at your desk is no good for you. Get to bed.”

“But I won’t be able to hear you from there.” Ford mumbled, eyes half-lidded already as his arm folded under his head, becoming a suitable pillow if he did say so himself.

“What? You’ve got to get off the phone to go to bed, yes, Sixer. Yeesh, how tired are you?”

“No.” Ford huffed back, a small pout forming. “I won’t be able to hear the radio. It-” He yawned audibly, rubbing at his eyes to try and help keep them open. “Listening to your show helps me sleep.”

He wasn’t even awake enough to regret that admission, not even registering the choked off noise Stan made in response.

“For the love of- Hey, genius, you still with me?” Stan waited until Ford hummed. “Good. No falling asleep where you sit. Now you take that radio with you, alright? And. You. Plug. It. In. Upstairs.”

Ford blinked again, Stan’s voice striking a chord enough for him to sit up blearily and glance behind him again at the radio. “Oh. Right. Yeah that makes sense.”

“Now he gets it.” There was a clatter as if Stan hit his head against something, most probably his hand but Ford couldn’t be sure in his tired state. “Now, I’m going to put the phone down and trust you, OK? I’m going to trust that you go upstairs and get a good night’s sleep.”

_He trusts me._

Ford gave a dopey grin, nodding giddily before realising that Stan couldn’t see him. He shook himself more awake, just for Stan. “OK, trust me, got it. Trust me to go rest and…trust me to call you again soon?” His voice was full of hope as he waited.

Stan did not disappoint, his voice affectionate. “Yeah alright, I’ll trust you on that too. Good night, Poindexter.”

“Night, Knucklehead.”

The phone went dead in Ford’s hand but Stan didn’t stop talking, not that he really paid attention to the excuses he was making to their audience. He stood up instead on shaking legs, nervously unplugging the radio and ignoring the hissing voice that told him how bad an idea that was as Stan’s voice cut out mid awkward laugh. He carried it reverently upstairs, scared to break it as he entered rooms he hadn’t been in for so long he’d almost forgotten what they looked like. His bed was made, unused for a while and used instead as another worktop. Notes were strewn across it, old ones that held little meaning now, not having been looked at since long before he had found out the hole he had been digging himself into.

He put the radio on his bedside cabinet, taking one final look at the notes before scattering them to the other side of the bed with little fanfare, sleep the more pressing matter in that moment than whatever precious research was held between the pages.

He sat down heavily, moving to turn the radio back on as he settled into bed, Stan’s voice ringing out as he got comfortable.

“So, where were we before that unexpected call… no, you know what? I’m sure no one will mind. I’ve got a slow song that’s perfect for sending people to sleep. You better be in bed, Sixer and not listening to me by your phone still-”

Ford never got to hear the song, a small smile lighting up his face as everything went blissfully black. Falling asleep in bed for the first time in months.

* * *

 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sixer.”

“Stan.” Ford beamed at the phone as he sat down. It had been two weeks exactly since he had first spoken to Stan, the days no longer bleeding into each other quite so easily now that he had a constant contact. He’d rung his brother up the following day, too scared to give himself anytime to overthink and had been rewarded with Stan’s overall enthusiasm and excitement that he had actually meant what he said. It had also forced him to rest more and with a few nights of constant rest under his belt it was becoming increasingly obvious how bad the sleep deprivation had wrought havoc on himself and his plans to defeat Bill.

Things made so much more sense with a clear head, his earlier ideas on how to deal with Bill suddenly glaringly obvious in their faults.

He’d started to dismantle the portal, one piece at a time, and with each one the tightness around his heart seemed to lessen.

He’d get there, step by step, he just had to keep going, keep moving forward.

And if Bill decided to visit him in his dreams, he always had Stan to remind him he wasn’t alone when he woke up.

Ford didn’t let himself think too much more on any of the pressing matters at hand as he chatted to his brother, letting himself have the moments that presented themselves to live just that little bit more instead of just exist.

He’d had enough of just existing. He wasn’t going to let Bill take everything from him anymore.

“Hey Ford, this is going to sound crazy but… my listeners apparently loved our heart to heart.”

“Oh?” Ford blinked, baffled by the notion, though Stan seemed just as perplexed as him.

“I know, right? _Weird_.” Stan chuckled down the phone, though the sound died quickly, forced and nervous.

Ford frowned, not sure he liked the awkward tension that was brewing.

“So, uhh- I was wondering if you- well…”

“Stan? Just ask. You’re making me nervous.” Ford bit his lip, tapping at the table with anxious fingers, wondering what Stan was going to say.

_Did I misread the signals? Did he not want to get back in touch? Is this all for his listeners?_

“Well, they want to hear more- not the bad things that have happened, that is. They’re all oddly gushing about us making amends or something and want to know if it was real or all for show so…” Stan took a deep breath on the other end of the phone, Ford waiting almost impatiently for the shoe to drop.

“I wondered if you’d like to come visit me? Maybe host a show with me one night soon, chat about some of our childhood adventures and all that rubbish that people normally like to hear about.” Stan’s nervous chuckle came back. “We could hang out off air too, get to… get to know each other again, you know? Properly, not just over the phone.”

Ford was silent on the other end of the phone, his mouth opening and closing as the influx of information hit him.

Stan actually wanted to see him again. Wanted to get to know him.

Something about it knocked the wind out of him. He hadn’t even thought that would be possible, hadn’t imagined they’d get much further than talking.

If he was honest, he hadn’t known what the future would hold for him at all, let alone…

“Sixer? Y-you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m-”

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Stan’s voice was crestfallen, snapping Ford out of his trail of thoughts.

Ford took one more look around the house that had once been a home and now almost seemed like a prison, filled with far too many memories that were now tainted with betrayal.

The portal was dismantled enough that no one else could get it working without him, his house was littered with the scrawling runes of a man determined to never let anything untoward in with him.

Two of his journals were hidden safely away from prying eyes, the instructions to the gateway far apart and useless without one another.

Everything was safe, as it should be.

Bill couldn’t do anything without him.

He stared at the front door, a place he hadn’t ventured out of since everything had fallen apart. Surviving on what he had, only just about existing.

Sunlight shone through the glass, painting a path across the floor for him.

His shoulders relaxed, the tension leaking out of them as the possibilities became clearly visible, no longer clouded by the past.

“No, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This was really fun to write. Also ‘what are you planning?’ on here got a lot of grinning and ‘Welp...’ haha.


End file.
